


They will keep on speaking her name

by jadelennox



Category: Ronja Rövardotter | Ronia the Robber's Daughter - Astrid Lindgren
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadelennox/pseuds/jadelennox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nothing is bothering me," she said. "Only numskulls being numskulls."</p><p>"Ah, well. as to that," said Matt, in a soft voice he almost never used. "Most people are, eh? Except for you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	They will keep on speaking her name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeaperSonata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeaperSonata/gifts).



This is the way the storytellers have it:

> Once there was a caravan-train of Travelers in the forest of what was not yet called Matt's Forest. They were happy to drive out the thieves they found, when they realized that the brother and sister in the gaily-painted red and yellow caravan had been stealing from nearby villages, for Travelers tolerated no thieves among their midst. They'd have thrown rocks and rotten fruit as they sent the disgraced pair away, except that the brother and sister were the caretakers of there equally-orphaned young sister, an innocent child who had stolen nothing, and who comforted the old grannies when their bones ached with her lovely singing.
> 
> As the remorseless thieves stormed away into the forest -- for the Travelers had confiscated their gaily-painted caravan and the pair of cheerful cart horses, in order to reimburse any villagers who'd been robbed by the thieves -- the child turned back and gaze longingly at the caravan-train that had been her home as long as she had lived. The angry Travelers could not help but be subdued by that look. One goodwife, whose own aging mother had been sung to sleep many a night by the child's throaty song, called out, "Child! There is a home for you here, with me and mine, in our caravan!"
> 
> The child hesitated for just one moment, and indescribable look passing over her face, but then the goodwife continued. "It will be a real family, not like those criminals who call themselves your siblings! We will never speak their names again, but you, my child. come home with us!"
> 
> The child's lips tightened in a look of disdain which did not belong on such a young face, and she turned back to face the forest and stalked off after her brother and sister, never looking back again.
> 
> And thus it was that the child Lovis learned to live with thieves in the forest which was not yet called Matt's Forest, and sang her songs to the wolves, and learned to have no fear of gray dwarfs, rumphobs, or black-bearded robber chieftains.

This tale always made Noddle-Pete laugh until he wheezed, whenever one of the robbers brought a new version of it back from some tavern. Lovis would sit with narrowed eyes, trying and failing to focus on her mending while the old robber snickered.

"It's hardly funny," she said with scowl, the first time this happened. "That the only reason they can come up with for the choices I've freely made is tragic upbringing."

"Don't forget the romantic-if-misguided loyalty," offered Little-Snip.

Lovis was younger then, and had not yet mastered her unruffled demeanor in the face of ever-helpful robberies. She curled a lip at Little-Snip.

"What's so funny, robbers of mine?" called Matt, coming up to the fire. He knelt and rested one rough palm against Lovis' cheek. "Are they bothering you, my golden harpy queen?" 

Lovis looked up at him. The firelight flickered behind him, casting orange and yellow and blue highlights on his curls and leaving his face shifting in and out of silhouette. Though she couldn't see his smile in the shadows, she knew exactly what it looked like, for he wore the same expression almost every time he looked at her. His palm rested cool on her fire-warmed cheek.

"Nothing is bothering me," she said. "Only numskulls being numskulls."

"Ah, well. as to that," said Matt, in a soft voice he almost never used. "Most people are, eh? Except for you."

Noddle-Pete snorted quietly in amusement behind them, and Matt stood up instantly. "Especially you scoundrels!" he roared. "Nincompoops, all of you! Weren't you supposed to be bringing back goats for my new bride?" He glared around to room at the suddenly-silent robbers. "Folooks! Go, take these bedraggled, worthless robbers out and find me some goats!"

Matt raged and stormed so that even Noddle-Pete saw the better part of discretion and tottered off to bed after Folooks led the robbers down into the forest. Lovis rose from her seat and went to Matt.

"You didn't need to send them all after goats," she said, grasping both of his hands. "They'll be good to have, and everybody likes cheese. But they didn't need to go right now."

"Maybe I just wanted them gone for a few hours, my harpy queen," he said, slyly.

And much later, "I don't care if you're the Lost Princess of the High Mountain, or the sheriff's most wanted, or a perfectly innocent Traveler child. You came to Matt's Fort, joy and gladness. That's all I need!"

And Lovis -- who did have reasons, but they were her own, and no storyteller's business -- regretted nothing.

* * *

This is the way the sheriff has it:

> Wanted: Lovis, wife of Matt, one of the sheriff's most wanted criminals. Mother of Ronia, the robber queen of the forest, most wanted criminal by order of the Count. Middling height, grey hair. For extensive crimes against property and person. Extremely dangerous; approach with caution. 

"Mother," asked Ronia, after tearing into her elk drumstick with sharp white teeth. "What did you do that makes the sheriff's men so nervous of you?"

"Swallow your food, or you'll choke," said Lovis, calmly.

Ronia, the nigh-mythical robber queen, stopped talking and swallowed so she wouldn't speak with her mouth full in front of her mother. In the morning, she'd ridden out with her band of dirty devils, with Birk and Clara and Malin and Gudrun. And yes, with Bumper and Knott and Little-Snip, older and slower now, but still happy to ride out with Ronia, and to flirt like nincompoops in front of the girls who would laugh and encourage them while Birk rolled his eyes. That morning they'd taken a great haul from the sheriff's men down by Robbers' Walk -- for Ronia was choosy about those she was willing to steal from, but the sheriff with his terrible dungeon was always fair game -- but now She was in the stone Hall of Lovis' home, and so she chewed and swallowed.

Even now when Lovis was older, and needed help to shell the hazelnuts and make the cheese and smoke all the meat Ronia and her restless robbers would bring home, Matt's Fort -- home to Ronia and her band of robbers -- was the home made by Lovis. _Lovis's Fort, we ought to call it,_ mused Ronia, as she washed down her mouthful with a swig of rich, pure goats' milk.

"Why is the sheriff so scared of you?" she asked again, under Lovis's amused gaze. "You have never not the sheriff's men on the head and taken their gold, and you've never freed their horses or stolen men from their dungeons. Why does he fear you?"

And Lovis -- who knew the sheriff's reasons, but kept her own counsel -- smiled, and offered Ronia the pie that Birk and Clara had made under her supervision, and said nothing.


End file.
